The Red Staircase
Do you remember when you made a simple prayer, and it came true?
Holding the front of my blue velvet cheongsam with both hands as I ascended the stairs to the banquet, determined to survive these stairs to join our guests at the rehearsal dinner. I saw the contrast between my golden stilettos against the red burgundy carpet and felt pleased to have picked the right outfit. My mother sewed the dress skintight to show off all the angles of my square shoulders and trim waste. The dress was tight at the neck down through my hips and finally relieved me with two slips on each side of my legs. My mother is very strategic in her dressmaking, with one slit higher than the other, so as I walk, you can see the curves of my hips sway as each knee lift onto the stairs.
Popping a few buttons and falling to my death the night before my wedding was less than ideal. I finally reached the top of the stair and congratulated myself for my survival skill. I saw two big hangs extended as he stood there waiting for me. I placed my smaller long fingers into his and smiled up at him. He leaned forward, kissed me on my left cheek, and said softly, “You look ravishing.” I felt beautiful as I stood there with my cheeks growing red under the watchful eyes of my soon-to-be Grandpa, Ed.
I enjoyed many meals with him and loved listening to his stories. Grandpa had a sweet tooth, and I always made extra desserts for him—enough to take home. My favorite was carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Also, I admired Grandpa Ed's fondness for his bride. Unfortunately, after the birth of our second son, he fell in his home, and his health started to decline.
On a visit, I walked into his hospice room and overheard him enthusiastically chatting with his nurse. She was half listening while checking his vitals, and he finished his story with, “I’m the luckiest man in the world to have married an angel.” We visited him briefly and caught him up on Caleb’s school and plans for Pony Baseball in the spring.
Grandpa Ed made a profound impression on me that day. He spilled his life’s mystery to the nurse, that wasn’t listening. After returning from WWI, he took a bride, his high school sweetheart. They raised their children, watched grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow, and traveled the world. He acquired wealth, homes, ranches, and boats. But, in these final days, the love of his bride was that he treasured and remembered. She made his life whole.
After the kids went to bed that evening, I removed all my make-up. I looked into the mirror and processed what Grandpa Ed said. I asked God, “How? I want to become that woman. I want to give love so powerful that a man like Granpa Ed would cherish it on his deathbed. He would look back on his life and remember the love I gave him above everything else. My love for him will take him from this life into the next.”
This day, I have marked the beginning of my journey into feminine spiritual mysticism.
Sometimes, dreams are still yet to come true, and we need to have faith and stay the course. Keep to our lane and continue the journey. I know people quit the race before the end. I refuse to, and I’m here to encourage you to keep going to make your prayer come true. You can do it! I believe in you.
Image: Gonzolas, Eva. 1874. “Une loge aux Italiens”. Oil on canvas, Musée d'Orsay.